


The Game is On

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tabletop Gaming, Billie the reaper - Freeform, Castiel in the Bunker, Charlie Ships It, DM Charlie, Dean Ships It, Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, Gen, Grigori, Hunters & Hunting, Kevin doesn't care, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mentions of the Stynasty and Grigori and, Pining, Series Spoilers, Taking a weekend off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens at the MoL Bunker when five friends decide to take a weekend off from getting attacked by evil? </p><p>Clearly it's time for some Dungeons & Dragons at the Bat Cave. </p><p>And it's also time for Sam and Cas to admit they both ship Sastiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Saving the World for a Whole...Weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zetal (Rodinia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/gifts), [Megapupluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megapupluv/gifts).



> I am always the cleric, and 3e is still the best. Just FYI.  
> For Z, since that's who sent the plot bunny hopping my way.

Though Kevin had been wanting to try 4th, Charlie claimed it was too watered down and Sam agreed, adding that it was overpowered at the same time as short on roleplay. Charlie, of course, had played 1st through 5th, and, though she had been a THAC0 purist for a long time, she had determined that 3rd was the best for teaching new players, since the d20 system was so easy to learn and versatile.

Dean just rolled his eyes and said, “Let’s get on with your nerd-ass game,” and Cas frowned at him. Charlie explained to Dean how to create a character, and Kevin walked Castiel through the same, while Sam got the beer and pizza and Code Red Mountain Dew. His character was already prepared. He had spent hours on it last night, which was part of why he really didn’t want to switch to 4e now that he had the perfect character in 3e. He was a mage, of course.

Castiel debated for a while, and finally chose a paladin. He asked quietly if he could be a paladin of the real Lord, or if he needed to choose among the false ones in the book. Kevin glanced at Charlie. “Um. Under the circumstances?”

Sam laughed and leaned over to point at the book. “Look, Cas. It’s just another name for the Divine, right? I don’t think choosing Pelor as your patron god in a game of Dungeons and Dragons is going to make you an idolater.”

Castiel began to smile. “Pelor reminds me a great deal of my Father. The God of the sun and all that is light, a creator, a healer. His followers are neutral, but good, and are committed to defending those weaker, and to delivering mercy. His crusaders believe in equity for the meek with perseverance and strength. That appeals to me.”

“See? It’s like a tribute, right?”

“And Pelor’s favored weapon is a mace. It has been quite a while since I used one myself. That could be an amusing departure from reality.”

Sam smiled at him fondly while the others laughed. “Yeah, Cas. That’s the point, right? Taking a break from reality?”

Castiel seemed pleased. “Then I’m doing this right?” he whispered hopefully.

Sam found himself wanting to kiss the angel’s head, so he cleared his throat and stepped back. “Yeah, man. You’re doing it right.”

Charlie was reading over Dean’s character sheet and groaning. “You’re impossible!”

“What?” the man demanded. “I’m a fighter!”

“Yeah. You’re not a legend yet. You’re not going to start out with the most badass of weapons.” She smirked. “What do you think this is? Supernatural?”

Sam cackled. “Hey! We had to level up before we got the Colt or Ruby’s knife, or an angel blade!” he pointed out. “We started out this job with a bunch of homemade sawed-offs and some salt rounds!”

“We’ve got a grenade launcher in the trunk, dude.”

“And how many times have I gotten to play with that?” Sam sulked. “Exactly zero. The one time we actually used it, you and Dad said I was too little to handle it.”

Castiel was frowning again. “I’m still confused about spell range. If I am a paladin of a god, shouldn’t I be able to smite an entire room of undead in one round?”

Kevin sighed. “We’re playing with the one guy in the world who’s more powerful than the characters in the game.”

And so went the first night of the “Not Saving the World for a Whole” Weekend. Dean had insisted there were better ways to spend their time. But Sam had noticed that his brother had taken far more time than was strictly necessary choosing his character’s armor and feats. Dean could call him Dumbledork all he wanted, but he knew the older man was at least as much of a geek at heart.

Kevin was a rules nazi, but that had not surprised anyone, and after a few drinks, he was mellowed out. Charlie ran them through the first scene, where the characters met one another in a tavern and were forced to fight side by side against a bunch of ruffian kobalds, before calling it a night on a cliffhanger. She grinned as Dean balked. “I told you! The real gaming begins tomorrow! This was just a character-building session, and to teach you to roll the dice. And we have got to get you to the point where you can determine how many sides a die has at a glance. I’m not slowing game speed for you to sit and count sides.”

“I suggest putting them in a row in the order of their highest value,” Castiel said helpfully.

Dean glowered at him. “I’m not counting the sides. I’m trying to remember if that’s the one I’m supposed to be using.”

Kevin raised his beer bottle to Dean. “I’ll write you a cheat sheet. Like ‘roll the one with 6 sides for this weapon, roll the one with 20 sides to see if you hit,’ that kind of thing.”

“I’m not an idiot. I just need a little time to catch on.” Dean grabbed the player’s handbook from the prophet. “Give me this. I’ll know everything I need to know by the time we play tomorrow. You won’t have to worry about me slowing down battle. It’ll be our healer over there making eyes at our wizard dude when he’s supposed to be fighting.”

Sam coughed on his beer.

Castiel took far too long to realize he was the one being criticized, and that made the others laugh harder. “I was paying attention!” he promised.

“Whatever.” Dean drained the rest of his beer, and kissed Charlie’s cheek. “I’m going to read up on how to win your game.”

She sighed. “It isn’t about winning, Dean!” she called after him. “It’s really about surviving!”

“Story of our lives,” Dean and Kevin both called back as they disappeared down the hall in opposite directions.

Charlie sighed. “Sam, we’ve got our work cut out for us this weekend. Your brother doesn’t relax well, does he?”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Not unless it involves gambling and enthusiastic women.”

“You two go on. I’m going to do some planning. Kevin’s going to second-guess everything my NPCs do, so I gotta be ready. Go on. See you bright and early around noonish.”

Sam laughed, and put Castiel’s character sheet safely into the binder he had his own notes in, and placed his dice reverently into their pouch. He glanced at the angel as he began to lift his laptop, to find him watching.

“Will you...be busy with research tonight, Sam?” he asked passively.

The hunter looked down at the computer. It was almost difficult to separate himself from it, even though he knew he was heading for the bed. But lifting his gaze to meet hopeful blue eyes made his decision for him. He left it behind on the table. “No, I’m not busy tonight. This is our weekend off, right? I’m not looking for cases, so there’s no reason to take it with me to bed.”

Castiel seemed pleased. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “It would be nice to simply talk with you, if you aren’t busy.”

Charlie winked at Sam. “Good choice,” she said in a quiet voice, then went back to work planning her game.

It was twenty minutes later that Sam had showered and was creeping back into the bedroom in a towel.

The angel smiled at him. “Why do you do that, Sam? As though you think I’ll be asleep?”

His face heated a little. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “You’ve slept in the past.”

“Not for a while.”

“No. I guess I just want to be considerate. It’s been years since I lived with Amelia; before that, it was something like eight years since I shared an apartment with Jess. Other than Dean, I haven’t shared space with anyone else regularly. It’s a little strange having company over.”

“Am I good company, Sam?” Castiel asked, and there was just a touch of tease in his voice.

Sam let his gaze wander over the figure lying on his bed. He looked so conservative, even without his suit, in a white tee and white boxers. But those were Jimmy’s choices, not Castiel’s. The angel had simply grown accustomed to wearing them. It suited him anyway, with his muscled thighs and strong arms and chest. It made Sam warm inside to know that he was the only one who ever saw him this way.

Not that he ever knew what to do with that privilege.

“You’re excellent company, Cas,” he murmured, almost wistfully. He turned and began to sift through his laundry for his own boxers and tee. After all this time, he was still self-conscious in front of the angel, which was silly, since Castiel was not even aware that one of them had any reason to be. He had no instinct for modesty or privacy. He was entirely unaware that Sam was trying to hide his body behind a too-small towel, nor would he have understood if he had realized it.

“I hope so.”

Sam looked up from sliding into his shorts. “You hope what?”

“I hope I’m acceptable company. It has been a very long time since I was in a barracks sort of situation.”

The hunter began to smile. “Is that how you see this, Cas? As a barracks?”

Castiel shrugged. “Not exactly. But is it that dissimilar? Several fighters all bunked together. The Men of Letters clearly did not expect to house a small garrison here, but there are adequate accommodations, since you said you didn’t mind sharing space with me.”

“Well, like you said, you don’t sleep, so...it made sense for you to be the one sharing a bunk, not like Kevin or Charlie.”

“But you could have relegated me to the library, if you’d preferred. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Sam licked his lips, and pulled his shirt over his head. “Man, you don’t sleep, but that’s not a reason for you to...not be comfortable. Right? And this barracks situation is going to be going on for a while, till we can determine if Kevin and Charlie are safe out there on their own. I mean, you could leave, but where would you go? The angels are after you, because they think you know something about the Grigori, and the Grigori are after you because they think you are spying for the other angels. And the last of the Stynes are after Kevin and Charlie, so Dean and I want them where we can protect them, till that psycho reaper Billie can track the rest of the Stynes down and end them. The safest place for everyone is right here.”

“Certainly,” Castiel agreed. “I simply hope that I can be acceptable company in the meantime. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re always welcome,” Sam responded, with sincerity in his voice.

The angel was smiling again. “Sam, you have always been kind to me.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not when you were without a soul. But that’s to be expected, and I was certainly not...Anyway, other than that short while, you have always been kind.”

Heat was filling his cheeks again. “I’m sorry about that short while too,” he murmured. “I’ve run into a few people without souls since then, and they aren’t all assholes. Apparently, that’s my default, when I’m not weighed down by morality.”

Castiel’s deep voice softened. “Sam, I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories of the past. If we continue along that line of thought, we can go on all night about my own transgressions. I simply wanted to thank you, for always making space for me.”

Sam sat on the bed somewhat gingerly. “I’ll always have space for you, Cas.” He cleared his throat. “We. I mean, me and Dean. I know we haven’t always been there for you in the past. But you’re family. We always want you to remember that.”

“Brothers, Dean once said,” Castiel murmured, in that strange, soft voice.

“Did-did he? Yeah, I mean...Definitely brothers.”

Blue eyes lowered, and Castiel pushed himself out of the bed to stand. “Yes,” he sighed. “Clearly brothers.”

Sam watched him. “You’re...not going to rest tonight?”

“I may watch some of your Netflix later. But I’ll keep it at a volume you cannot perceive. For now, I’ll leave you alone. You’re generous with your space, Sam. I shouldn’t...take advantage of that.”

He licked at his lips again. “I wish you would,” he murmured as Castiel closed the door behind him. He heaved a sigh, and stretched out on the lonely bed. “I really, really wish you would, angel.”


	2. Brothers

Castiel followed the sound of rummaging to find Dean raiding the refrigerator. He smiled at him. “Hello, Dean.”

A beer bottle flew toward him, and he caught it before he had realized what it was. He blinked at it. This was Dean’s way of letting him know he was welcome. He appreciated it. He just wasn't sure why Dean always insisted upon aggression when distributing affection. 

“I thought you were going to sleep.”

Dean shook his head, and grabbed hold of a fourth of a lemon pie and a bottle of water. He plopped himself and the provisions at the small table. “I gotta read this crap if I'm gonna have a chance at keeping up with you nerds tomorrow.” He flipped the handbook open to the page he had marked, and jabbed at his pie with a fork. “Sit,” he ordered through his mouthful, without looking at the angel. 

Castiel realized belatedly that he was dressed in boxers and a tee shirt, and Sam’s robe. “Should I, uh, put something else on?”

His friend shrugged. “I ain't gonna look at you. It's a free bunker.”

He supposed that was true, since the place was entirely off the local utility grid, but he wasn't sure how that was relevant. But Dean didn't seem to mind his immodesty, so he simply sat as he was told. “Dean,” he said slowly, “you seem to feel that you need to study our game to prepare. Should I be doing the same?”

A snort was his response. “You'll be fine. You're one of them.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes into blue slits and tipped his head in confusion. “I'm one of who?”

Dean gestured vaguely toward the library. “The nerds. You'll catch on without any problem. Me, I gotta figure things out on my own. If I don't, the other three will spend the whole day helping me,” he said, putting finger quotation marks around the last two words, “and I'll feel like an idiot.”

He thought perhaps he understood. “You mean the way you sometimes help me understand human behavior.”

Green eyes flicked up to stare at him. Then they softened into an apologetic smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Should I leave you alone?”

“No. Just sit and drink your beer. How come you're not hanging with Sam?”

Castiel sighed heavily. “I'm giving him space. You've often requested that I do so.”

Dean snickered, and turned the page. “Yeah, but Sam ain't me. I don't think he minds you in his personal space.”

He moodily shrugged off this comment. 

There was silence between them for a while, and Castiel's mind was beginning to wander back to his conversation with Sam, when at last Dean sighed. He was rubbing at his eyes. “The numbers are swimming in my head.”

“You need sleep, Dean. You and Sam are fresh from that hunt yesterday, when we realized Charlie and Kevin were being targeted, and you haven't slept.”

“Seems crazy to be waiting around for a reaper to take care of business for us. I don't like it.”

“I know you don't. But, Dean, this reaper has a vendetta against this family, who keep extending their lives unnaturally. If somehow she fails to reap them, we will track them down ourselves. But the cousins of these men found the bunker and tried to destroy everything in it, including you. Charlie and the prophet need us here to protect them, while Billie tracks and reaps them. There's no logical reason we cannot enjoy a diversion like Charlie’s game in the meantime.”

Dean huffed in obstinance. 

“You're exhausted, Dean. Why not sleep?”

“Somebody needs to be alert. And it may as well be me.”

Castiel frowned. That made no sense at all. Dean knew the angel needed no sleep. He watched the man flip through the pages of the handbook. “Dean? Are you staying awake simply to prepare for the game...because you're afraid you will not do well? Because you're afraid you'll be embarrassed by the outcome?”

Dean snorted again, twice. “What? No! I'm going to kick this stupid game’s ass. I'm just-I need to read up on it so I know what to expect. I mean, how hard could it be, right? I'm a fighter. I'm essentially playing myself. You're a healer warrior. Sam’s a bookworm that does spells. Kevin's a sort of rogue, who fits in tiny places. We're all just playing ourselves.” Dean began to laugh in a very odd way. 

Castiel stared at him. 

“Know what Charlie said about my character and yours? She called us the tanks. The frontline fighters. We're the hammers, dude. After all this time, we’re still playing that same role. Sam’s still the brains. You and me, we're still the grunts.”

He frowned.

“Best part? We chose the characters. The rank or class or whatever, we chose them. It's so ingrained that it's all we can be.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Dean,” he murmured, “you are not a hammer, nor a grunt, nor a tank. Neither am I. We are strong fighters. That does not mean we are only good for fighting.” 

“Whatever. I just thought it was funny.”

He watched his friend for a moment, then shook his head. “You don't find it funny at all. You're upset by this game somehow. Why?”

Dean shoved the book further onto the table, and sat back. “I'm not upset. I'm not. I just...Stupid stuff like this always reminds me...Sam's the smart one. Everyone knows that.” He snorted. “Don't believe me, just ask him.”

Castiel doubted that, beyond what he understood to be normal sibling rivalry, Sam would ever refer to his brother as less intelligent. 

“I have my moments, right? I'm a wicked good hunter. But if you need your Latin to come out right the first time, I ain't the Winchester you're going to call for that.”

“Perhaps not. But you're the one I would want to run my plan by before implementing it.”

Dean looked up. “What? You've literally never come to me to ask me about a plan.”

A dark eyebrow lifted. “Dean, I've literally never not come to you about a plan. Since the Seal of Samhain, if I've had even a moment to plan anything, and if I've been the one in command of my faculties, I've come to you at some point. You rarely want to help me improve my plan. But I still know you are the best strategist we have. It's why even Sam waits for your order. We know you. We have faith in you.”

The best friend he had ever had stared at him now. “What about-”

“I came to you. Too late, perhaps. When I was in too deep. But I did. And in the end, I came to you again to fix things.”

“But when you-”

“I came to you then too.”

“But not-”

“Even then.”

“Cas-”

“You can't count that time. I was hardly myself at the time.”

Dean burst into laughter. “I guess that's kind of comforting in a...screwed up sort of way.”

Castiel smiled at him. “Sam is brilliant. He's unmatchable among most humans for his capacity to learn, retain and utilize knowledge of all sorts. And you, Dean, are the strategist who sees the whole war, and the leader who thinks on his feet during battle. It is a different sort of intelligence, my friend. Never let it be said that yours is lesser, simply because Sam's is more apparent. Those who have known you a long time...We have a great respect for your mind, Dean.”

Green eyes were staring again, and for an instant, Castiel was certain there was a sparkle of gratitude in them. Then Dean blinked, and it was gone, and he huffed uncomfortably. “Yeah, whatever,” he said hoarsely with sarcasm. “Okay. Here, talk through this skill list with me. I'm thinking escape artist is a useful one. If my character has the same issues Sam and me have, he's going to end up tied to something eventually.”

“Kevin said that the skill swim is rarely used, but critical when needed. And jump, though I don't understand why that is a skill a humanoid would need to acquire…”

They spent over an hour in companionable conversation, learning the rules and game play, and laughing quietly. 

At last, Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “I gotta fall onto my rack. I need my four hours.”

Castiel scowled. “Since becoming human a few seasons ago, I noticed that most humans require closer to seven hours of slumber, Dean. Please sleep more. I don't need it now, but I remember how important it is.”

The hunter heaved himself up and began to pick up after them. “What about you and Sam? You gonna rest in there?”

“Maybe.”

“He likes having you around, man. You should use this weekend as a chance to...you know...talk. To him. About...him.”

Castiel shrugged. “Perhaps I will. For now, I'll let you both sleep, and I will watch over you.”

Dean looked at him for another minute, then sighed. “Okay. See you at game tomorrow.”

He looked down at his hands forlornly. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, man.”


	3. Bunk Buddies

When Sam's eyes slowly blinked open, he startled badly to find another figure in the room. Not-Dean was large, with a muscular back and dark hair, and was standing with rounded shoulders to look at something on Sam's bookshelf. Even though Sam’s brain registered this Not-Dean as his angel friend, his reflexes had already reacted. 

Castiel turned slowly to stare in curiosity at Sam's handgun. “Good morning, Sam,” he said in a quiet voice. 

Sam groaned, and replaced the safety on his weapon. “God, Cas. I'm sorry. I'm...I didn't mean to…”

He nodded at the ill-formed apology, and went back to looking at the item on the shelf. 

The human sighed. “I am sorry. It was bad when I slept with Amelia. I nearly shot the dog when he tried to curl up on the bed once. I didn't even sleep with the gun on the bed. It was in the side table drawer, but I had it in my hand before I was fully awake, and...Well, it was almost a really bad day for everyone.” He was babbling. Why was he babbling?

But Castiel simply nodded again. “I slept with my angel blade as a human. In spite of my paranoia, I don't think I would have reacted so quickly as you do upon awakening. When I slept at all, I often slept quite deeply.” He pointed at the shelf. “Sam? When do you have time to read? Or is this part of your research reference material?”

Sam pulled himself out of bed to look at what Castiel was seeing. “Oh. No, I read before bed sometimes. And when I wake up. I like the series. It's-it's a science fiction story. But it's also satire. I started it in college, but that was just before I ran, so I never got to finish. I'm rereading it now.”

“So the title Mostly Harmless is meant to refer to…”

“To Earth. And humanity.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “I must disagree. As a species, humans are quite harmful at times.”

Sam smiled. “That's true. But I did say it was satirical. Mostly, it's just clever.”

The angel hummed in acknowledgment. “I should like to read it at some point. Would you mind?”

“I didn't think you were interested in reading,” Sam blurted out. Immediately, his face began to flush. “Not-not that-I mean, you-”

Castiel gave him a patient smile. “I have not had much occasion,” he admitted. “But you clearly enjoy it. And I am tied to the bunker at the moment, so I may as well enjoy some recreation. Speaking of which-”

“Who's speaking of witches?”

They both turned to see Dean in the doorway, his head poking through. 

Sam laughed. “You're a dork.”

Dean shrugged and let himself into the room. “Says the guy who talked us all into Dungeons and Dragons on our first weekend off since Vegas. Come on. I made breakfast.”

“I'll be out in a minute,” Sam promised. He glanced at Castiel. “Unless...do you need the room? At all?”

Castiel smiled at him. “Thank you, Sam. No. I'm dressed.” He held out his hands to show them both. 

Dean snickered. “Bit long,” he huffed, then left them for the kitchen. 

Sam simply stared. It had been such a shock to awaken to his new roommate, and then he had been so conscious of how little he himself was wearing, that he completely missed that Castiel was in different clothing. 

Dean’s clothing. 

He felt a whimper and swallowed it before it croaked out of his mouth. 

The angel was dressed in dark jeans, frayed at the hems, from which bare feet teased their way out. Dean’s black tee fit entirely too well, and Sam could see that impressive back when he turned for him. A black belt held the jeans up. 

It was truly unfair how gorgeous the angel looked in such casual, worn-out clothing. The hunter could hardly be at fault for what fell out of his mouth. “So is your back so strong because of your wings?” he breathed. His eyes widened in horror as he heard his own words. 

Castiel turned to face him in surprise. “My back?”

“Well...it-it isn't Jimmy’s back anymore, right? Not since the Host fell?”

Blue eyes were watching him. “Long before that. Jimmy was reaped during the End Times.”

“Oh,” he replied stupidly. 

Castiel considered for a moment. “I support my wings using my grace. That is, they are an extension of my grace, which is to say they are not wings at all the way you think of them. Not limbs. And they do not require the use of my back muscles.”

“Oh.”

“But I do use my back muscles when I use my wings in this form. I can fly without much effort. But balance requires strength in this form. If I do not support the vessel properly with strength, I will be off-balance. Does that...I could draw you a diagram if you-”

“Sam! Charlie needs figures for the map! You have figures?” Kevin called. 

Sam swallowed hard. His mind was still on wings and muscles. “I can, um, I'll find something we can use. There's-there's the chess sets. We can…” He tripped over his tongue and looked at Castiel helplessly. 

The angel licked his lips. “I can help Kevin locate the chess pieces. I will see you soon.”

It took another moment before Sam could breathe again. When he could, he hurried to lock the door and sit hard on his bed, and let his head fall into his hands.


	4. Neutral

“I hit it.”

“Cas, you have to tell me the number, and then I tell you whether or not you hit it.”

Castiel frowned. He had forgotten. 

“Dude! Get your own dice!”

“I'm not investing in any pretty, pretty gamer jewelry just for one game. Give it.”

“No!”

Kevin laughed. “The way he's been rolling, I wouldn't let him touch mine either. He might get his bad juju on them.”

Dean glowered. 

“Kev, you can't use that skill if you don't put ranks in-”

“According to the supplement handbooks, using the 3.5 rules, in the appendix…”

Castiel sighed. 

Charlie put her hands up around four o’clock. “Break time!” she declared in exasperation. “And the Dungeon Mistress demands caffeine and cookies. Preferably caffeinated cookies.”

The angel and the prophet pushed themselves away from the table while the brothers continued arguing about the strategy the party would implement in the coming battle against the Orc raiders. For the record, Sam had a point. If their auditory ability was a factor, they would certainly hear them coming, but if a spell were cast ensuring their silence, it could be avoided, and they could be upon their opponents before they knew it. However, Castiel was conflicted, considering that his character might disagree with the morality of an ambush. It wasn't exactly meeting his opponents on honorable terms. 

Castiel wanted to step outside the bunker for fresh air. He knew he could not do so. Two groups of angels were searching for him. The bunker gave him some protection from their ken, but the moment he left, he was in danger of being discovered. He wanted to go a whole weekend without being forcibly debriefed by his kindred. Perhaps hiding was as dishonorable as ambush. But Castiel was an angel, not a paladin, and he had no such delusions. He supposed he was chaotic neutral at best, these days, after millennia spent as lawful ignorant. 

He hoped he was at least neutral good. 

“Hey,” a voice said behind him. “What are you thinking about so hard?”

Castiel could feel a very slight smile tug at him. He looked up at Sam. “Have you ever wondered what our alignment is, Sam?”

“Ours?” He sighed. “All the time. I like to think we're neutral good.”

He let his smile widen in fondness for his friend. “So do I.”

Sam laughed quietly. “Dean’s got to be chaotic good. He's got too much issue with authority to not be chaotic something. But I think we always try to do the right thing. Even if we make mistakes, and big ones, our hearts are in the right place. But maybe that's what a villain would think.”

Castiel watched him. The man was a martyr and a hero in the most absolute sense. And yet he still worried he was the monster in their story. “Sam? You are every example of good I can think of.”

Surprised hazel gray eyes flicked down at him. “That's-Thank you, Cas. That means…” He smiled somewhat sadly, and shrugged. “That means a lot to me.” He snorted softly. “I guess anything would be an improvement over what I was when we met.”

But Castiel did not laugh. He narrowed his gaze as he sought to understand what emotion Sam was trying not to project. “You have grown a great deal since the End Times, my friend. But I didn't consider you to be anything worse than a victim of circumstances in the beginning, and later, I came to understand that Sam Winchester is no victim at all. He is a warrior in the truest sense. He was and is an abomination by Heaven’s every definition, and yet he is the greatest hero who ever lived. No one becomes a hero without fighting his own demons, Sam. Your battle was worst of all, because the demons were in your own blood. Humans are many incredible things, Sam. Your capacity for rising to challenges never ceases to amaze me. And you and your brother are the best among them for doing just that. You are a…” He smiled suddenly. “You are an epic hero, Sam Winchester.” 

Sam had watched him during his speech, eyes hungry for confirmation, for absolution. It was heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time. When at last, he took a breath, it was a shudder. “Cas,” he said hoarsely. “Do you ever think about the time we tried to extract Gadreel’s grace from me?”

He frowned in a flinch. “I prefer not to.”

“It's important to me, though,” the man murmured. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You told me that...That was the day you said you understood what I was willing to give up, but you weren't willing to give it up yourself.”

“I remember.”

Sam let his gaze drop. “You said it wasn't worth losing me.”

Castiel watched the strong hunter, the desperate heart still begging forgiveness, seeking redemption, after all this time. “No, Sam,” he corrected softly. “I said nothing is worth losing you.”

The man nodded, letting his hair fall to hide his face. 

He couldn't help himself. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were already caressing the hair, slipping it back behind his ear tenderly. “Nothing is worth losing you, Sam,” he breathed. 

There was a tremble, a fear, radiating from Sam's large body now, and Castiel very much wanted to soothe it in an embrace. 

Did brothers do that? Was that something he could do as Sam’s brother? Or did that cross a boundary in their relationship? Perhaps he had already done that, he realized. Was he the cause of Sam's discomfort? “I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate?”

Sam blinked slowly in a strange way.

Castiel was certain now that there was pain in Sam's eyes. It hurt something inside his vessel to see it. “Sam, if ever I can do something for you, if ever you need something, you have only to tell me. Or-or if I've done something I shouldn't have, I will certainly back off if that's what you wish.”

He could see that Sam wanted something, needed something, even, but he shook his head. His own hand reached up to stroke the same strands of his hair behind his ear, just as Castiel had done. A shaky smile dismissed the angel. “You're a good friend, Cas.” With that, he stepped out of the room in silence, and back to join the others who were gathering again.

“A good friend,” Castiel sighed to himself. “And lucky to be even that.”

Sam did not meet his searching blue gaze the rest of the evening.


	5. Matter of Honor

The prophet was drunk. He had stopped referring to Sam by his name entirely, and was alternating between calling him “you bastard” and “the stupid Mage.” Sam didn't mind. It was better than what he was calling Dean and Castiel. He had thought about twenty minutes ago that Castiel was going to smite the guy. Dean settled for cuffing him in the back of the head, which made him sulk until he had forgotten why. 

Charlie ran a great game. Kevin's grouchiness faded into sleepy giddiness after a while, and Sam himself had slipped beyond tipsy at some point around the battle against the hobgoblin assassins. 

“I'm just saying, it's no wonder they were trying to kill Dean first. He's the loudest.”

Dean huffed indignantly. “It's because I deal the most damage, jackass!”

Sam shrugged and sat back hard in his chair. “Depends. I can rain down lightning. Lemme see you do that!”

“You toss your spell book and components bag, and I'll put down my sword, and we’ll see who deals the most damage with his bare hands.”

Castiel licked his lips. “I'm confused. Where does Sam keep all these spell components? He never seems to need to search for anything.”

Kevin chortled into his drink. “It's like the damn Impala. Have you ever seen that trunk? Where the hell do they keep the damn suits? The FBI crap, where do they put it?”

Sam ignored him. “Cas, I always keep good notes on my material spell components and how much they cost.” He was spinning his d10s on the table and watching them, instead of the beautiful angel and his adorable confusion. 

Castiel shrugged. “But where are they? A quill and pen, a tiny cloak, crushed diamonds, the dust of a pulverized lodestone...Sam, are you carrying around honeycomb?”

“Focus, dude,” Kevin chided. “We got a dragon to kill.”

A dark brow raised. “Charlie is clearly setting the map. I take that to mean there is time for me to ask questions.”

Sam smiled. “Sure, Cas,” he said fondly, without actually turning toward him. “I'm carrying honeycomb. You want some?”

“I enjoy honey. Its creation is quite interesting.” He continued to flip through the supplementary handbook. “I also wonder where your ferret goes during times when he isn't actively assisting us.”

Dean began to laugh again. “Freaking ferret.”

Charlie looked up. “Cas, there's a webcomic you really have to read. It's called Order of the Stick. It's freaking hilarious.”

Sam let his mind wander while the map was being set for what he assumed would be their final battle of the evening. Dean began strategizing with Kevin and Castiel, and Sam nodded at the right moments. But he had already chosen the spells his character had prepared for the fight, and he could cast them each from a distance. It was the front line fighters and the thief who needed to have their plan ready. Sam’s plan was to deal as much damage as possible in the first two rounds, then stand back and function as support with defensive casting. 

It was so different from the way he actually fought. Sam was a melee warrior, even more so than Dean. Dean was a deadly shot with a gun or bow. Sam was more comfortable fighting at close range, using his strength and size against any monster unfortunate enough to encounter the Winchesters. Of course, a lot of monsters had to be fought at close range. Heads had to come off, or particular organs had to be stabbed with particular items. It was exhausting trying to keep up with what every monster needed to die. When he wasn't using Latin as his weapon, it was generally in his best interest to have a sharp object. He was a dead aim with his gun, but there were just some things one couldn't do from a distance. 

Fighting at a distance was difficult enough. Loving from a distance was agonizing, especially when the object of his heart’s obsessive interest was in close range. Being near the angel simply reminded him how far away Castiel actually was. How far above. 

Sam sighed. 

“Dude! Sammy! Roll initiative! I'm ready to wreck this beast!”

He reached for his 20-sided die, and rolled it, then added its value to his modifier, all without much attention. “Sixteen,” he murmured. 

“Sixteen! By the time any of you join the fight, I'll be dead, you bastards!” Kevin cried out. 

“What's he going on?” Sam asked, trying to shake himself back into focus. 

“Twenty-one. That's what he gets for having such good dexterity,” Dean barked. “I'm gonna suggest you hold, Kev, till the paladin’s initiative at least.”

Sam smirked. If he had told Dean two days ago that he would say those words, with that serious tone in his voice…

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, I'm listening. Fear aura. Got it.” He rolled his dice, and cringed. “What's the difficulty class?” He rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Doesn't matter. I rolled a one. There's no way I'm not succumbing to fear, high will or no.”

Castiel spoke very quietly, so that Sam may have been the only one to hear him muttering to himself. “If only our Mage had the unbreakable will of Sam Winchester. Sam has faced Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, Lilith and Purgatory alphas. He does not succumb to fear.”

Sam looked around at the rest of them. Dean and Kevin were each passing their checks, which Charlie was confirming. Castiel passed his check as well. It seemed to Sam through the film of the alcohol that he had imagined those words of high praise from his warrior friend. 

“As I am to act first,” Castiel said quietly, “may I presume that my paladin is aware of how his teammates are faring against the dragon’s intimidation?”

Charlie smiled warmly. “Sure. You can see that the rogue and fighter are gritting their teeth and soldiering on, while the Mage is cowering in the corner, since he’s backed against a wall and can't run any more. Possibly pissing himself.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but laughed a little. “My elf is entirely too dignified for that. He's probably cowering with dignity, thank you very much. Any tears you see are just material spell components leaking from his eyes. Elf tears are very valuable because they're so rare.”

Castiel blinked at him, then turned back to Charlie. “I use my action to get to Sam to give him protection.”

Dean scoffed. “He’ll be fine! I need you attacking with me! Get your ass on the front line where we belong!”

“Sam is my front line. Always.”

The remark made Sam's stomach drop. He didn't even know what it meant. 

Apparently neither did Kevin. “The crap does that mean?”

Castiel frowned in frustration. “It means...It means I fight at his side, and if he needs a guardian, that is where I belong.”

Charlie looked from Sam's slightly ajar mouth to Castiel's stubbornly clenched jaw. She smiled. “Okay. He made his decision, Dean. Your turn, unless Kevin wants to use his held action. Cas has made his call.”

“Given that it's a stupid-ass call, I'm going to choose to ignore it!” Dean bellowed. 

Kevin threw him a look of vexation. “Really? Nick Fury?”

“That's Samuel L. Jackson, son. When you're old enough to watch his other movies, you'll see why everything that comes out of his mouth is a treasure. Shut up.”

Charlie shook her head. “Nope. Every character makes his own choice.”

“But it completely dissolves the plan we just made!”

Castiel looked into his friend’s eyes with stark blue defiance. “No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force.”

“What?” Charlie murmured. Kevin narrowed his eyes drunkenly. 

Dean glared back at the angel. “He said that no battleplan ever survives first contact with the enemy. Like that's supposed to get him off the hook.”

Castiel shook his head. “You would never leave Sam defenseless.”

The older brother tossed his hands in the air. “It ain't Sam! It's a chess rook on a Dungeons and Dragons map!”

“And my character is merely a bishop, but he doesn't know that. He believes the situation to be reality, and therefore must treat it with earnest concern. He will not leave Sam. Sam’s rook. I won't leave him defenseless. It is my duty and honor to protect and watch over him in his time of need, to be strong when he can't be. Sam is a brave warrior and a selfless friend. I will fight, but I will see that Sam is protected first.”

Charlie’s face was pink with delight. “Cas? That's excellent role play!” She squealed happily. “I'm so proud of you!” The DM patted his hand with encouragement, then laughed. “Okay. Tell you what. Pelor sees your devotion to your charge, and he grants a one-time miracle. Sam, you're free of the dragon’s fear, and we’ll begin at the top of initiative. So, Cas? Your teammates are all fine. Now what would you like your action to be?”

“Sam is fine?”

She nodded. “By the grace of your god.”

Dean snorted and sat back. “Wish that happened in our world once in awhile.”

Castiel ignored him. As Sam watched, he moved the bishop toward the dragon figurine they had found in a cabinet, which Sam still wasn't entirely convinced wasn't a cursed object. He rolled his dice with a look of satisfaction on his face. “Then I do as our fearless leader would have me do, and I attack.”

Sam heard the numbers rattle off, and he participated when his turn came, but it was as though he were swimming through the whole thing. The moment the dragon was slain, and experience points were awarded to the party, Sam stumbled from the table and backed away. “Shower,” he mumbled to no one, and he escaped before another word was spoken. 

The water rained down on him, and he felt his mind beginning to clear of the alcohol. He let himself sit on the floor of the stall, and he wrapped his arms around his bent legs. The water poured onto the back of his neck. His face was buried in his knees. He stayed like that several minutes, and felt himself shivering in spite of the warmth. His skin ached badly, stung where the water hit. 

The alcohol had dulled his reactions over the course of the game, but now the emotions slammed into him. The things Castiel had said, the way he had touched Sam's hair and tucked it behind his ear so tenderly…

Tears began to slide down his cheeks, down his knees, and join the rush toward the drain. His lips trembled. He gave a soft moan of anguish. It sounded eerie, punching back at him off the walls, to mock him. 

“Sam?”

The hunter gasped into the steam, scrambling to stand. If it had been a demon, he would be meat by now. But it was far, far worse than that. That was the voice of an angel.

“Sam, are you all right?”

“I'm fine!” he called hoarsely. “Just-just a minute!”

“Oh,” Castiel responded. “You seemed to be in distress. I could feel it across the bunker.”

Sam cursed under his breath. Of course Castiel could feel his pain! What the hell was wrong with him?

“You're certain you're all right?”

He shut off the water, and grabbed his towel, tying it tight around his hips, before tripping out of the steam. “Fine,” he insisted. “I'm good. I'm awesome.”

Castiel eyed him carefully, then shrugged. “All right. I'm sorry to interrupt you then.” He turned toward the door, but stopped and turned back to face Sam. The look on his face was of sheer concern. “Sam? If I've done something wrong, or offended you in any way, please know that I'm deeply sorry, and that I wish you would tell me, so I might avoid the same behavior in the future.” With that, he lowered his gaze, and disappeared down the hall. 

Sam cringed as soon as he was alone. How had he managed to make Castiel feel guilty, when he was the one feeling such inappropriate things? Every time their eyes met, it was another cut to his heart. He had avoided those blue eyes all evening, but it hardly mattered. The voice was there to taunt him. And really? He didn't even need Castiel there at all, since he had memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his sighs, his hands...Those hands. He dreamed about those hands. 

He trudged up to the bedroom, wishing it had been a demon who had caught him off guard instead of a concerned friend who would never imagine him as anything more.


	6. Prayer

It had been a prayer.

Castiel clenched his teeth in frustration. He didn't care what Sam said. It had been a prayer, specifically seeking him. Why would the man be so stubborn as to pretend his heart was not crying out in pain? And it _had_ been to him specifically, hadn't it? He had been certain. And with the careful warding in the bunker, no other celestial would be able to hear him anyway, so it only made sense…

Nothing about beautiful Sam Winchester made any sense. Nothing at all. The man alternated between being a cold killer and an emotional, guilt-ridden wreck on a near daily basis. He was a selfless hero and something of an obsessive psychopath too. He was brilliant, educated, and experienced far beyond his mortal years, and yet remained curiously naïve and wide-eyed. He was the boy with the demon blood, the once-future boy king of Hell, and yet he had hobbled Lucifer himself. All at once, Sam was a hawk, a phoenix and a sparrow. Not a bit of it made sense.

Castiel loved all of it. He loved the hardened warrior, and the mystic scholar, and the frightened boy who still sought redemption. He enjoyed the sly fraud and the faithful believer. He reveled in the bitter snark and the innocent laugh. He respected Sam's darkness, and he adored his sunshine.

And he thought perhaps it was all just a little too much. Not Sam himself. The sensations and frustrations Sam evoked in him. He was just a soldier, after all. He wasn't made for the puzzles of human intricacies. There were simply too many factors he didn't understand individually, placed into an unknowable and ever-changing equation.

There was no figuring out Sam Winchester. There was only loving him anyway.

“Life's too short, Cas.” The voice muttered at him from the library table, which was in darkness except for one small lamp.

“Dean? Why are you awake?”

“I'm spending my experience points and money. I want to do it just right. We're going into our last day of gaming tomorrow.”

He nodded. “And what did you mean about the length of a life, Dean?”

His friend snorted. He still did not look up from his notes. But he gave a faint smile down into them. “Don't you remember the Apocalypse at all, Cas?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course I do.”

“But not Famine. You don't remember that episode.”

“Certainly. Sam killed him with his own meal. It was quite poetic, as far as horrible deaths go.”

Dean laughed quietly. “Ever wonder why there was no Horseman called Self-Deprivation?”

“Dean, I don't-”

“Cas, life is short, whether you're an angel on the run or a couple of hunters hiding out in a bunker. You know it as well as I do. Me and Sam, you, we've gotten real lucky and we've made friends in high places, just like we made enemies. But luck runs out, and your Daddy has a short attention span. We're gonna get ourselves ripped out of the game soon enough. Why spend what little time we got depriving yourselves of something that could bring you both a little comfort in what life you got left?”

Castiel went very still, and silent. Suddenly, the room felt cold on his vessel’s skin, and perhaps it was psychological, but he wanted his coat. It was a security item, something that anchored him when he felt his grace trying to correct the phenomenon of dissociation within the vessel. It didn't happen often, but since he was the vessel’s sole occupant now, it was disturbing when it seemed that part of him was drifting from it. It produced a dizzying effect.

“Go tell my kid brother you're in love with him, Castiel. And do it now.”

He stared. A terror was creeping up his neck to lace around his throat. “We're...brothers…” he choked out.

At last, sharp green eyes locked onto his. “No,” he said flatly. “We're brothers. Me and him. You and me. Not you and Sam. You each got one, and you don't need another. So go be something else to him. The brother role is mine. He doesn't need that. So go tell him you're something else.”

He was having trouble making his vessel breathe properly, which just added to the feeling of dysphoria and dissociation. “He won't...It'll ruin everything.”

“Cas? I'm telling you. Go. Make my brother happy. We're hunters, man. Everything with fangs and claws and black smoke has our scent, and is coming for us, every day. If Sam has a chance at being happy till the day our luck runs out? You sure as hell better let it start tonight.”

Castiel did not respond. He simply turned and very slowly walked toward Sam's closed bedroom door. He felt like he would shake apart, and he knew humans would never perceive it, but his wings were trembling so badly he could hear them rustle. He heard something else too, and it made him lift his chin and force his steps with determination.

“That's my boy,” Dean murmured, as he turned his pages. “Go get him, Tiger.”


	7. Tiger Hunts

His hair was still wet. He combed his fingers through it, and sat on the bed to sigh. There was a familiar numbness setting in. He knew he was exhausted. He knew he ached everywhere from the tension. He knew his head had been pounding most of the evening. But he just couldn't feel it anymore.

That was the way it was sometimes. He pushed pain down so definitively for so long that it seemed to bury itself under his skin, to cut at him like a dull knife in perpetuity rather than slice or stab and be done. Maybe that was what alcohol was for Dean. Sam rarely needed it in order to numb himself to the everyday hurt. The bottle was only necessary for extraordinary cases, like loss of his brother. This sort of pain was different. That sort cut sharp and demanded his full attention. This one simply weighed on him day in and out, and he stared past it blankly into the darkness.

The knock on the door might have startled him if he still had the energy. Instead, he just sighed again. “Come in.” His voice was soft and hoarse, unfamiliar in his own throat.

There was no light in the room, nor any in the hall, so he could not see the figure.

“Dean?”

But it didn't smell like Dean. Not the comforting cologne, made of motel soap and gunmetal, engine oil and sweet sweat, mixed with whiskey, the smell of home. There was none of that here. The only scent from this visitor was the slightest breath of ginger. Another day, this might have been joined by coffee or even blood, but today, it was alone. The sharp bite of ginger always lingered just beyond Sam's perception when a certain angel was near.

“Castiel,” he murmured.

The figure cleared his throat. “Sam? May I talk to you?”

“Sure, Cas. Sit.”

Instead of using the chair at the desk, Castiel sat beside him on the bed.

It was too close. Sam could feel the bandage of numbness shredding, exposing an open wound. He closed his eyes in a cringe. He couldn't see Castiel in the dark anyway.

“Sam, you're hurting. And you cry out to me sometimes. But you won't tell me why.”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to punch Castiel. He wanted to grab the bag he kept ready at all times and disappear into the night. “Cas, I'll be okay. I'm sorry if I'm sending out some weird static. I'm just tired.”

“It isn't static, Sam. And…”

He felt the angel’s hand on his face suddenly, and he gasped, his eyes snapping open. “Cas?”

The hand was gentle, and it caressed him along his stubbled cheek and jaw, in a way that made his chest seize mercilessly. Then a cool calm flowed over him, as a pair of blue eyes flashed in the darkness.

All his tension melted away, and he found that it had been the only thing keeping him upright. He collapsed, pitching forward, his muscles rubbery and useless.

Castiel caught him in strong arms. “It isn't static,” he murmured stubbornly. “It's sad music I feel from you all the time, a desperate melody I can feel reverberating in my grace. I can't stand it anymore, Sam. Please. Please let me love you, and heal it all.”

Sam heard a soft whimper escape his parted lips. “Cas?” It was all he could say. It was all he could think.

“Sam, maybe I'll ruin everything by saying so. But Dean doesn't think...Dean says it is important to tell you. I know you think of me as a brother, and I appreciate that, but-but it isn't how I think of you, and it isn't what I want to be to you. And maybe you'll resent it or be offended or uncomfortable somehow...I don't know. But, Sam, I want to say-”

“Cas, I'm in love with you,” he blurted out, all in a breath.

Castiel stopped. Then, slowly, he pushed Sam to arm’s length to stare into his face. “You are?” he exclaimed. “Why?”

Sam felt his world quake beneath him. Or perhaps it was because he was trembling so hard. “Why? You-you want to know why?” he demanded shrilly.

“I do,” the flustered angel insisted. “I was about to…” His eyes narrowed. “I love you, Sam. I wanted to say that I love you. You can call me brother, but I would much prefer to be...something else. And I don't understand why. I can think of many reasons someone would love you, Sam, but I find that none of them are really why I do. I don't know why I do. I simply...do.”

The hunter laughed shakily. “You love me.” His whole body shivered in intense, giddy delight. “All this time-Cas, you love me!”

“I truly do, Sam,” he said with soft solemnity. “And I hope that's all right.”

When Sam sighed, it seemed that years of hurt and frustration were leaving his body. It seemed as though he could then take in a full breath for the first time he could remember. “It's so much better than all right, Cas! It's…” He stopped, as a thought occurred to him. “You, uh, you know what this means, right? You're not just…”

Castiel's head tipped to the side. “I hope it means that you will permit me to make you happy. I hope it means I could even...touch you sometimes. You seemed to flinch away from me when I touched your hair before. But you don't appear to be doing so now. You'll have to help me understand. I don't want to do anything wrong. But I would very much like to be able to touch you. It's very pleasant.”

Sam grabbed either side of Castiel's face and plunged into a kiss before either of them could change his mind. It was clumsy, awkward, and so, so beautiful. Castiel reacted immediately, gripping Sam's face in the same way, pulling him in as if he would drink Sam, breathe him into his borrowed lungs. They sat this way for full minutes, soft mouths claiming one another, fingers grasping desperately, afraid to let go. By the time they surfaced, Sam's tears were streaming freely down his cheeks and over Castiel's hands, and he couldn't help how badly he was shaking.

Castiel's deep voice was gentle. “Are you all right, Sam?” He looked up into Sam's eyes in the dark. “You're crying?”

He sniffed. “Yeah, Cas. I'm crying.”

“Winchester tears aren't so rare as elf tears.”

A laugh burst from him again, and he leaned in to press his lips against the angel’s before answering. “No,” he admitted. “I guess they aren't. But I'm all right, Cas. Just please tell me you meant everything you just said.”

He still couldn't see the angel well, but he felt fingers washed with his tears stroke through his hair. He closed his eyes, and let warm gratitude fill him all over, let the angel hold his head against his powerful chest. “I do love you, Sam. I love you with every ounce of my grace. If you'll have me, I will be your loyal companion as long as you allow.”

Sam leaned into his angel’s chest. The constant motion of a reverent hand through his hair was blanketing him with a complete sense of wellbeing. Before he realized they were shifting, Castiel had helped him stretch out on the bed, and lay beside him, warming him everywhere, and replacing his head onto his chest.

“Sam?”

It occurred to him that Castiel needed reassurance just as he did. He smiled happily. “Cas, assuming this isn't just the best dream I've ever had...I want you. I want all of this. God, Cas, I never thought you could feel like this-”

Castiel stiffened beside him. “Because I'm an angel? Because I'm a soldier? I may have much to learn about humans, Sam, but I understand love. I understand devotion and loyalty. I understand what it means to give oneself over to another. And being a soldier, I may seem cold or detached, but I assure you-”

“No!” Sam laughed and lifted himself to kiss Castiel. “No. I meant I never expected you could feel this way about me. About me, Cas. Just an hour ago, I was hating myself for even wanting it.”

The angel who held him flinched. “That was what brought on your suffering? Because I had somehow let you believe I couldn't love you? That I didn't adore you? Sam, I'm so sorry! But-but how could you not know? It's been all I could do to not touch you, not worship you in the basest sacrilege.”

Tears were burning in his eyes again. “I've wanted to be able to love you up close for so long, Cas. Promise me you're not going to disappear when I wake up.”

Castiel kissed his forehead, and held him tight against his own body. “You're not asleep, my love,” he whispered. “And I need no sleep. So even when you are dreaming, I'll be right here waiting for you.”


	8. The Ship, It's Sailed

Charlie watched her players interacting. She winked at Dean, who smirked. Kevin was rolling his eyes with impatience. She giggled. “So if our elf and our paladin would care to choose among the items the lamia is offering, we can move along.”

Castiel blinked into Sam's hazel green gaze and sighed. He could see the others in his periphery, and hear them too, but it was all reaching him as if through water. Very slowly, he realized that Charlie was probably talking to him. “What? No. No, the, uh, my paladin will refuse the bribes of an evil creature.”

“The spell book,” Sam said quickly. “I'll take the spell book.”

Charlie laughed and continued talking, but Castiel was back to smiling at Sam, who was blushing for some reason, and hiding behind his hair. “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing his fingertips over Sam's hand tenderly.

Sam shivered, and ducked his head further, though not before Castiel caught sight of his pleased smile. “It's just, that's the third time they've caught us not paying attention, and it's embarrassing.”

He nodded. “I'll endeavor to be more diligent.”

Dean was negotiating with the lamia, and Kevin was pocketing its goods without promising anything in return. Charlie did not even bother asking Sam and Castiel for input.

The angel was free to stroke Sam's hair gently behind his ear in order to see his face more clearly. “You have extraordinary eyes, Sam Winchester,” he whispered. “I miss them when they're hidden.”

His human looked at him with an almost suspicious squint of those gorgeous eyes.

Castiel smiled at him. “You think I'm not being sincere?” he teased.

Sam's flush was spreading to his throat. “No, I…” He chuckled, and lowered his gaze again. “I just can't believe you're saying things like this at all.”

“I've wanted to say them a very long time.”

There was some commotion at the other end of the table. Sam looked up. “What? What happened?”

“What happened?” Dean shrieked. “Our thief just got caught picking the pocket of our informant, so he panicked and stabbed him in the back!”

“I didn't panic,” Kevin insisted irritably. “It was a tactical move. Cas didn't like dealing with him anyway.”

“Well, he's dead,” the older man growled. “How the hell does that help us? We had a good relationship going. We got him access to the city traders so he could sell his ill-gotten crap. He provided us with loot and information. How was that not a good plan?”

Charlie sighed. “Okay. You've killed an NPC. I'm calling a break for maybe twenty minutes so I can rework some stuff, and so Dean doesn't kill the rogue.”

The prophet snorted indignantly. “He can try! I'm higher level!”

“Because you were stupid enough to take that side quest alone!”

“Stupid! It was-”

“Tactical. Yeah, I got it. What about attempting to ride the griffin? Was that tactical too?”

“Dude, that was just fun.”

“Cas had to heal your ass eight times!” The two of them wandered away from the table while arguing, and soon they could all hear them laughing and clanking beer bottles in the kitchen.

Charlie smiled to herself. “Twenty minutes, Sastiel.”

The angel could feel Sam startle beside him. “Wha-what? Sassy what?”

She laughed and reached across to grip Sam's hand. “Sastiel. It's your ship name. Dean and I got drunk and decided on it.”

Sam stared. “Our ship…”

“Your relationship name. Your...It's Sastiel. It's been decided.”

“Why were you two discussing names for me and Sam?” Castiel wondered.

Sam eyed her suspiciously. “ _When_ is what I want to know.”

Charlie winked. “About a year ago, when I mentioned the angel boy and you went all gushy, then when I finally met him and I saw the way he looked at you. Dean and I have both shipped it like whoa. About time you two joined the rest of the class. Now scoot. Dungeon Mistress needs to work. You boys go play.”

Sam nearly knocked Castiel off-balance in his hurry to leave the room. His flush was so prominent now that Castiel wondered if he was feverish.

But once they were back in Sam's bedroom, Castiel felt strong hands pull him down onto the bed. He smiled contentedly. “Sam, I'm sorry you were embarrassed. But it is very hard not to show how happy you make me.”

The man wrapped them together on the bed, and found Castiel's lips with his.

It was difficult to say why kissing Sam was so pleasurable. But Castiel did not feel the need to analyze it. He felt freer than he had ever been, and more sure of who he was than ever before. He was Castiel the Fallen, the guardian angel and brother of the Righteous Man, and the devoted lover to heroic Sam Winchester. He could think of nothing he wanted more. Everything was as it should be. For the first time, maybe ever, he was at peace with his existence. He had purpose.

“You make me happy too,” Sam breathed into his throat, and they lay like that for a long while, until Charlie’s laughter reached their ears, and they realized their twenty minutes was nearly up.

It was perhaps the most peaceful and content twenty minutes of Castiel's life so far. He looked forward to every game and challenge that they could face together, and he hoped they all ended with embraces like this.


End file.
